


What You See Is What You Get (Girl)

by MajaLi



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-19
Updated: 2015-11-19
Packaged: 2018-05-02 09:47:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5243747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MajaLi/pseuds/MajaLi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jonathan buys a self-propelled road vehicle suitable for both solo and pillion riding.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What You See Is What You Get (Girl)

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by the inimitable [CoffeeKristin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CoffeeKristin) <333 Everything remaining is my own fault!

“Ghost Rider,” Shawzy says firmly, “has the best motorcycle of all time.”

“No way.” Trevor folds his arms and glares. He may be a rookie, but it doesn’t look like he’s backing down from this one. “It’s just an ordinary bike that happens to be on fire. That doesn’t make _it_ cool, that’s just Ghost Rider being Ghost Rider. The motorcycles from Tron are way cooler.”

“Okay, first, _happens to be on fire_ , congratulations on the understatement of the century--”

“You’re such a pyro--”

“Jonny!” Shawzy yells across the locker room. “Tell him he’s wrong!”

“Hey!” Trevor squawks and punches Shawzy in the arm, hard, which of course leads to a scuffle that threatens to topple both of them off the benches and onto the floor. Patrick sidesteps them, still in the process of stripping off his gear, and finds himself shoulder to shoulder with a smirking Jonny.

“You know,” Patrick tells him, “you could have prevented all this.”

“Eh, they’re bonding.” Jonny waves a magnanimous hand toward the tussling pair. “Shawzy can loosen him up a bit; he’s been playing well, I don’t want the pressure of Duncs being out to get to him at the eleventh hour.”

“Well, maybe if someone would pick up the scoring...” Patrick elbows Jonny gently, grinning when Jonny huffs and pretends to step away. “Nah, man, you’ll be fine. Watch, when you start getting bounces you’re gonna break Hoss’s goal streak from last year.”

“Jinx.” Jonny pinches the inside of his elbow gently. “Hey. Speaking of bikes – you wanna come over this weekend?”

Patrick freezes.

“Jonny,” he says, “Jonathan Bryan Toews, don’t you tease me. You didn’t.”

“Guess you’ll just have to come see for yourself, eh?” Jonny smirks.

“You _did_ \--”

“Hey!” Jonny yells over Patrick’s shoulder at Shawzy, who’s somehow gotten Trevor into a headlock on the floor. “Watch the logo!” He steps forward to pull the two of them apart, leaving Patrick gaping in his wake.

Well. There go Patrick’s weekend plans.

\-- -- --

“Show me the motorcycle,” Patrick demands, standing in Jonny’s doorway and glaring, bleary-eyed, at him on Saturday morning. He’s got an enormous red Starbucks cup clutched in his hands, peering over the top like some sort of Christmas nega-elf. As Jonny watches, he takes a sip, grimaces, swallows, and shudders.

“Problem?”

“They were out of peppermint syrup,” Patrick says mournfully. “I had to get the weird crème brulee one instead. It’s...weird.”

“You could just get a normal coffee.” Jonny steps aside to let Patrick into the house and wanders off in search of keys and shoes. “Without all the sugar and crap.”

“Sugar and crap is what makes Starbucks coffee drinkable! It’s the devil, man. A seductive, seasonally-themed devil.” Jonny rolls his eyes in the darkness of the hall closet, tossing two mismatched sneakers over his shoulder as he rummages for his left Converse.

“Hey!” he calls, “Did I leave my grey Converse by the door?” Patrick says something muffled and grouchy in reply; Jonny hears footsteps, then something thumps against his ass. He straightens, turns, and finds himself face to face with his shoe, dangling from Patrick’s fingertips.

“Are you five?” Patrick demands. “Just the left one? Really?”

“Awesome, thanks.” Jonny snags the shoe and stands on one foot to tug it on, yanking at the soft back until it slips over his heel while Patrick shakes his head and silently judges him.

“Motorcycle. Now,” he insists, hauling at the sleeve of Jonny’s hoodie as he shuffles toward the garage. Jonny frowns and digs in his heels.

“Hey. _Hey._ ”

Patrick pauses and frowns back. “What?”

Jonny turns his wrist to twine his fingers into the sleeve of the hand that’s clutching at his; cups his other hand around the bob of Patrick’s curls, peeking out from under his awful beanie; leans forward to press a kiss to Patrick’s forehead, just above his wide eyes.

“G’morning.”

Patrick blinks twice, in rapid succession, then pulls his hand out of Jonny’s to punch him gently in the chest.

“Morning,” he mumbles, bumping his nose against Jonny’s cheek. He lets Jonny hold him like that for a few minutes, just breathing in the scent of his skin and that stupid Axe shampoo he’s used since he was on the Knights.

“Got your fix?” Patrick asks, when Jonny finally pulls away. Jonny nods. “Awesome. Now, let’s go see that bike.”

\-- -- --

“That” Patrick says, arms folded, feeling more disappointed in Jonny than he ever has in his life, “is not a motorcycle.”

“Well, technically–”

“ _That_ ,” Patrick repeats, more loudly, flailing toward the motor vehicle in question so vehemently he nearly flings his coffee across the garage, “is _not_! A _motorcycle!_ It’s a – it’s a tricycle with a fancy paint job, babe, where did you even – what, did you find it in the Little Tykes ‘Grownup Collection’?”

“ _That_ ,” Jonny sniffs back, “is a hybrid Piaggio MP3 tilting three-wheel scooter. It’s fast, energy-efficient, and the ‘tadpole’ configuration of the wheels lets it set up for a harder lean, tighter cornering, and quicker emergency lane changes.

And I never said I had a _motorcycle._ ”

Patrick gapes.

“You researched this,” he says, letting every iota of betrayal show in his voice. “You smug bastard, you set me up. Did you bribe Shawzy to start that argument the other day, too?”

“Nah. But it was good timing, eh?” Jonny smirks. Patrick absolutely does not want to kiss him. He watches as Jonny swings a leg over the bike – trike – _thing_ and reaches back to unhook a gleaming black helmet from the back of the seat. He holds it out to Patrick.

“Well? You coming? Or are you waiting for me to find your short ass a car seat?”

\-- -- --

“This is humiliating,” Patrick grumbles in Jonny’s ear, helmet visor tipped up and clinging to Jonny’s waist as they do a steady thirty miles an hour down Michigan Avenue. “I can literally feel my balls crawling back up into my body. Any second now my dick is gonna shrivel up and fall off, and then you’re gonna be sorry.”

“Saving the environment is humiliating?”

“No – I mean, yes, but – _ugh_.” Patrick makes a noise of thorough disgust and drops one hand from Jonny’s waist to pinch him sharply on the thigh. Jonny retaliates by hitting the gas and leaning hard into the upcoming lane change, making Patrick yelp and clamp both arms around him until they’re upright again. “You’re an asshole,” he complains.

“Can’t do that at thirty on a motorcycle,” Jonny says smugly. Behind him, Patrick quiets as they crest the rise of the Michigan Avenue Bridge over the Chicago River, the sun still low on the horizon to their left, casting the faintest blur of shadow onto the brightening water.

“Are we going to Millennium Park?”

Jonny shrugs, pats Patrick’s hands where they’re clasped over waist.. “Wherever you want, babe.”

He slows down as they approach, turning at a jogger’s pace onto the path into the park. They loop around the north side of the Millennium Monument, making a sharp right onto the southward path toward the Bean. When they get there, Jonny parks the Piaggio in the Bean’s curving shadow, not far from the Eastman Egg Company food truck. He briefly abandons Patrick there while Patrick struggles with the helmet; comes back juggling two cups of coffee and two fat grain rolls, spilling over with eggs and cheese, spinach and red bell pepper. A dollop of green goddess dressing drips onto Patrick’s wrist as he hands over one of the sandwiches. Patrick tilts his head to lick it, thoughtless, but when Jonny makes a small, strangled noise, he freezes, his wide eyes the same startling blue as the clear morning sky.

“Eat your breakfast,” Jonny says, looking away and knocking their shoulders together. Patrick knocks him back, and they jostle back and forth as they eat. Miraculously, none of the coffee gets spilled. Jonny pitches the empty cups into a nearby trash can; when he turns back, Patrick’s already flipped up the kickstand and climbed onto the Piaggio’s pillion. Jonny folds his arms and raises his eyebrows.

“It’s still a fucking dinky little scooter,” Patrick grumbles as he jams the helmet over his curls.

“Uh huh.” Jonny grins at the handlebars as he swings his leg over the seat; leans back, ever so slightly, into Patrick’s embrace. “Love you too, babe. Where to next?”

**Author's Note:**

> This travesty of a crackfic is to be blamed entirely on [thingsKTsays](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thingsKTsays), who was so mortally offended to learn I had not listened to "Downtown" that she made me watch the music video; and then was so mortally offended to learn I hated it that I had to write moped-themed fic to regain her love.
> 
> ...and I suppose it is also, just a teeny bit, to be blamed on the Patrick Kane Birthday Bonanza, as well. ;)


End file.
